


And I Feel Fine

by looneymoony



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, M/M, i like the ending though, i was rly stuck on this one, im not sure i like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneymoony/pseuds/looneymoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stalks like the night. He sings like the four winds. He is the death of hope.</p><p>I also have this really bad habit of writing Fiddleford crying a lot?<br/>EDIT: February 2, 2016 - Just a couple of grammatical fixes that bothered me while I was re-reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Feel Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Written: October 22, 2015  
> Tumblr Source: http://looneymoonyreblog.tumblr.com/post/131724856466/i-started-writing-this-huge-fic-about-what-might  
> Written in response to two prompts, as follow:  
> "Fiddauthor = Stanford going out for a monster hunt in the woods and gets badly injured Fiddleford finds him and takes good care of him till he gets better Sorry if this like oddly specific I just really like this idea"  
> "oh oohh bc you asked for fiddauthor prompts: how about fiddleford has a crushy crush on ford and thinks it isn't returned but ford feels the same way"  
> i started writing this HUGE FIC about what might happen after damvtf but i got too sad writing it and it was taking so long so instead have some post-college gay biz

The dry leaves crunched under his feet as he paused to regain his bearings. His teeth began to chatter and he pulled his jacket closer around him before taking off again.  _I hate these woods,_ he thought, breath turning white in the crisp autumn air. He longed for the wide, open fields of his home farm, feeling uncomfortably small next to the hundreds of trees towering around him. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to find a landmark… no, this wasn’t the right way.  _Damn it_ , he should’ve brought a map. Praying that his sense of direction wouldn’t fail him, he turned to run the opposite way when out of the corner of his eye he spotted -

“Oh my  _God_ , Stanford!” he sprinted over to the body that lay curled up in a heap on the forest floor. “Stanford, are you alright?” his stomach churned when he tried to take his pulse, only to find the scientist cold to the touch. He turned him onto his back, heart pounding faster as he saw three deep lacerations across his chest. “No, no no no no no, aahhh, shoot, what did you go and do this time…”

He pulled off his boots and his long socks to tie around the first two gashes, head pounding. He braced himself against the bitter wind but didn’t hesitate to remove his own jacket and shirt and tear off one of the sleeves to patch up the last injury. He hurriedly put his clothes back on, though, knowing that he’d be no good to his friend if he caught hypothermia.

Ford let out a low moan as his partner slung his arm over his shoulder and heaved him off of the ground. Though slightly relieved at the confirmation of his still being alive, he knew there wasn’t any time to lose. They had to get back to the house if the wounds were to be treated quickly and properly. Although he wasn’t entirely certain where he was, he picked a direction and took off as fast as he could. One thing he knew for certain was that Stanford Pines was going to  _live._

 

* * *

 

 

Fiddleford anxiously paced back and forth in the kitchen. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so furious with a saucepan full of soup, but damn it, was this pot pushing his buttons. The poor man was mortified to find himself completely idle after prepping the canned dinner and was struggling to maintain his composure. He couldn’t think of anything else to do - he’d thoroughly cleaned the gashes with water and rubbing alcohol, sealed the wounds with tape, wrapped them up in proper bandages, and laid him down in a reclining position, but Stanford still was unconscious. He sat himself down at the table, a situation he found himself in far too often, and glared at the pot on the stove. God, he hated that pot.

His knuckles turned white as his fists clenched around his chair, reminding himself that he’d be fired if he defied his employer’s directions. The words still rang in his ears: “If anything happens to me,  _don’t_ bring me to a hospital. Don’t even call a doctor over.  _No one_ can know what goes on over here, understand?” No. He didn’t understand.  _ ~~He’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going to die.~~  _But he agreed anyways. He always agreed.  _ ~~Stanford’s dead Stanford’s dead Stanford’s dead.~~  _He had to. It was the only way to get him to -

Fiddleford had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the soup bubbling. A cry of joy escaped his mouth as he leaped into action. He dumped nearly all of the hot broth into a bowl and grabbed a spoon for his boss to eat with, rushing at full speed upstairs to the stool he’d set up by his bedside.

He was still asleep.

 _That’s alright_ , thought Fiddleford.  _I’ll just get him some more painkillers and he can eat once he wakes up._

He still wasn’t awake by the time Fiddleford got back.

He wanted to scream.

He never should have let Stanford go monster hunting on his own. He knew how dangerous it was, especially with a creature that he knew so little about. But no, wimpy, terrified, pathetic little McGucket was too scared.

_~~All your fault all your fault all your fault -~~ _

_No_ , McGucket squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples.  _No, it’s not my fault. It was just an accident. How was I supposed to know this would happen?_

_~~Just an accident? Please. If you really cared about him, he wouldn’t even be here.~~ _

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

_~~Could you be any more dense? Take a look around you! If you love someone, you don’t let them dedicate their entire existence to demonic worship.~~ _

He opened one eye shakily, glancing over at the wall. The eye of Providence glared into him. He had to admit, over the past month, Stanford had been getting more and more obsessed with his “patron saint”, Bill. Fiddleford didn’t trust him in the slightest - he’d already had a couple unpleasant encounters with the fellow when he wanted to talk to Stanford - but despite his terror of the eyes constantly watching him, he didn’t dare mention it.  _Why?_

_~~Because you’re a coward.~~ _

_No, I just would rather have him stay happy. I don’t want to ruin my chances with him._

_~~Chances?! Oh, boy. Do you honestly think that he has any interest in you? You are the ugliest, lankiest, and stupidest man that he has ever met. Why in the world would he give someone like you a 'chance'?~~ _

Fiddleford’s head was pounding. Perspiration was beginning to bead on his forehead.  _We’re friends,_ he told himself.  _We’ve been friends since college. He chose me to come out here and work with him. At the very least, he thinks I’m nice._

_~~Nice. Well, that just seals the deal, doesn’t it? He thinks you’re nice. You know what else he thinks is nice? A monster hunt. But guess what? HE ISN’T GOING TO DATE A MONSTER.~~ _

He hugged his knees closely to his chest. _I’m not a monster. He likes me. I’m important to him, and he values me._

_~~Would you quit deluding yourself? He is not interested in you in the slightest. He could care less about what happens to you. Think about it. Did he even bother to tell you where he was going today?~~ _

Fiddleford was blinking back tears. 

_~~Face the banjo music, beanpole. You do not have, never had, nor will you ever have a ‘chance’ with Stanford. You might as well just leave right now, while he’s still -~~ _

“COME BACK, STANLEY!”

Fiddleford leaped out of his seat with a yowl and landed on the floor. Heart racing, he looked up and saw Stanford sitting up in bed, wincing in pain. He scrambled up to his friend and eased him down onto his back.

“Whoa, there, buddy. Easy does it, now,” said Fiddleford. “It’s probably best if you don’t move. You’ve been out for quite a while. How are ya feeling?”

Stanford groaned, starting to raise his arm up to his head but finding it too difficult. “I feel… pretty…”

“Pretty… good? Pretty lousy?” he felt his forehead, mentally noting that he was sweating profusely and to get him a glass of water.

“Pretty… and witty and briiiight…” 

Fiddleford started snickering. Stanford joined in, ignoring the ache in his chest, and the two shared a laugh. He leaned back with a sigh, glancing over at his partner, who was still giggling… but something was wrong.

“Fidds?”

Fiddleford looked up with a chuckle, tears running down his face. “I… I thought you w-were gonna die…”

Stanford lay paralyzed in bed, watching helplessly as his dearest friend gasped for breath, smile still plastered across his face. “Who… who’s-s Stanley?”

With that, he broke down into uncontrollable sobs. The full force of everything that had happened that day hit him head-on, and he couldn’t take it. “I… I can’t… I don’t know h-how long I can… if I can -”

Stanford picked up his chin, staring straight into his eyes for one split second, and kissed him full on the lips.

The embrace ended too quickly, with Stanford laughing softly and pressing his forehead against Fiddleford’s. Tears continued to fall down his face, but he leaned into the gesture and snickered a bit. Finally, he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in tightly. Stanford’s wounds felt like they were on fire, but he hugged him back anyways, laying his head on his shoulder.

“Hey, Fidds?” he asked.

“Mmm?” Fiddleford had his face buried in Ford’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

“When we’re cranky old men, can I still count on you to come save me in the woods?”

Fiddleford laughed again, ignoring the ache in his heart. “Even if the world were falling apart, Stanford. I’ll always come and find you.”


End file.
